Tough Redemption
by Wordgawk
Summary: Wander has a wish that carries him through the toughest of times. A retelling of the ending.


Author's note: No game but _Shadow of the Colossus _seemed quite right to me to deserve this new type of writing style I wanted to try out. Massive spoilers for the ending. Please read and review!

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Tough Redemption

Wander's unconscious form lies on the chilly temple floor. The sword that was grasped in his hand sails a great distance through the air and embeds itself in the same floor with a ring that resonates a cry for completion. His arduous journey to resurrect her demands closure.

Cool air. Bright sun. The boy is aware of these things as his eyes slowly open from the oblivion he slumbered what seemed so very long in. He has accomplished his goal; he has defeated all 16 colossi in this desolate and forsaken land to gather the power needed to restore his love's soul. Mono.

Painfully, he moves his head to the side. He expects to hear the comforting clops of Agro's hoofs trotting up to greet him as they always do. His steed often arrived at his side just when he awoke. Sometimes after Wander revived from his past fights, Agro would lower his head next to his as if to assure his companion was truly conscious. The stark revelation that Wander's close friend is gone makes the boy shut his eyes to ward off the bleak memory.

Unfamiliar voices murmur in the shrine and his eyes force open again. His surroundings are in a haze. His vision swims and he blinks the blurriness away. There is something strange, something much different about him that has never happened before. His body feels off, detached. Wander sluggishly turns over on his stomach and weakly pulls himself up on his elbows. He tries to catch his breath which has unexpectedly grown difficult to control.

Alarm. Disappointment. Scorn. The shaman Lord Emon expresses these emotions in his diatribe. He is berating, saying things Wander already knows: he stole the holy sword, he has trespassed into this sacred land. There is something wrong? He has done a truly offensive act by wishing to have someone dear come back from the afterlife? No, Lord Emon says he has unleashed an awful entity because of his deeds. Dormin? Dormin is free now? The gods have been using Wander this whole time? The boy does not care. She is what he wants. Her soulful eyes, her sweet smile...these are what signs of life he yearns to see after such an arduous journey.

His frail and battered body gets up from the floor onto shaky feet. The altar. Mono is still dozing peacefully. She is sleeping and not dead, he believes. Closer, he moves closer to her to prove himself right. Lord Emon is telling him that he is possessed by dead spirits, but Wander cannot be! A pain shoots through his thigh when an arrow pierces it. He hardly cries out; his body has grown numb. He stumbles too easily and crashes to the floor. Unnaturally dark blood spreads from the wound, staining his tunic. He clutches his leg and grits his teeth, furious at being stopped. The back of his head meets unforgiving stone as he tries not to focus on the sharp pain. Why does it hurt so much? Why does his body, mind, and heart ache so? He only wants her back. Her sacrifice was cruel. A gentle soul as herself did not deserve to be in a comatose state.

Wander hears the order for him to be executed. The tip of a sword belonging to one of Lord Emon's followers hovers above his face. The blade wavers as the owner struggles with the task of killing a living being. Wander glares up at the forthcoming consequence of his trials. The hands of the executioner steadies, whose face now does not convey emotion. Inside, Wander is not the same. Feelings are swirling in chaos. Panic. Rage. Hope. Longing. No one feeling deserves to be pushed aside for the other. His expression shows nothing but grim conviction. Though his skin is sweating and ashen, his tunic is dirtied in mud brown, and his once chestnut long hair is the shade of gray shale, the strength in his piercing glare is his only way of convincing them that the ritual he went through is not meant for evil and that he has free will. His unspoken message will not work though, because it is rushing in. The deathblow. Fear. Agony of failure. Helplessness. Triumph.

Triumph? Why does this strange, positive feeling occur when death is descending-

The sword plunges swift into his heart. Black blood sprays high from his chest. Wander gasps, his strained voice choking at the exertion. He refuses to be stopped again. Nothing will keep him away from her. A rush of victory roars in his veins, but why does it feel like it is not his own? In his mind, so very quiet, there is pleased laughter. A sinking sensation is creeping into his bones. It is threatening to atrophy his muscles, peel away his skin, rob away everything, everything, including his hope, his bond of love. His mouth opens to protest, but his dry throat collapses. Dormin, it is that being. It is taking him over. Why is the entity inside him? Why was it so hard to reach Mono?

There is a shout, but it is not his own. The man standing in front of him backs away in fear when he sees wispy shadows resurrect Wander. He pulls himself to his feet. He is not being controlled by Dormin. He is moving on his own accord. He is here in this land and will not leave without seeing her rise or hearing the melody of her voice. Wander stumbles toward Mono. He takes labored breaths, wordlessly pleading his feet to take him to her. She is a mere few feet away. His shaky, determined hand reaches out for her, but the metallic obtrusion jutting from his chest requires his attention. He wants to wrench out the sword so he can keep going. Sharp edges cut into his slackening hands but he summons a reserve of energy to remove the blade. He cares not about pain any longer. The offending sword is yanked out quickly, without a flinch. A touch of a smile reaches his lips but the world suddenly blurs and tilts. His strength is completely sapped! His legs must keep him standing! They must!

Bereft of equilibrium, he continues to step forward. He needs to make it to her, but he is so very tired. A metallic clatter echoes as the sword drops to the ground. Wander follows onto his knees, then pitches forward. His cheek throbs a second time at the pitiless contact with the stone floor. The mass of darkness he spied before is here. It is gradually spreading over his neck and down his body like a cocoon. He feels the darkness overtaking his body. His thoughts are scrabbling for safety, wanting to escape, wanting to remain his own. The spirits, whispery inside his head now, are eager to be released. Movement of limbs is lost. The tightening shroud of shadows cover his body. The weight is too much to defy. His mouth cannot form words anymore. His frantic mind, pleading for salvation, hitches and stills.

Wander is silent.

A terse hush fills the air. Before relief can replace it, shocked cries are uttered when webs of black envelop the fallen warrior. The webs of shadow wrap like ribbons around the body until it enlarges to full height. Wander- no, Dormin rises. They stand, towering over the people below. They take a moment to accustom themselves to their host. Dormin has not inhabited another being's body in time too long passed. This skin feels different, resistant, but Dormin would adjust. For so many years gone by, they are finally free. The gods are renascent. They speaks of their anger about being sealed in 16 separate entities. Their confinement was all because of these lower beings who were afraid of the potential of Dormin's power.

Far below, the soldiers are scampering like mice. The brave faces they wore just a breath ago are now hued with terror. Dormin is pleased as their mighty fist raises and slams on the brittle stone floor where the men run. Shards of rock splinter under the enormous force and Dormin repeats the motion, basking in the newfound freedom. But they are growing confused. Was stopping this group the true goal? The hulking form of Dormin slowly turns to the altar, ignoring the flinging arrows from crossbows that attempt to pierce their body. They do not care about being shot at, and yet the concern lingers. The sword that belonged to the boy is taken by Lord Emon and his men as they flee. The temple shakes with deep vibrations. Walls crack and topple around everyone, shattering the ground. The tremors of the interior of the shrine is deafening, but Dormin pays it no heed. The attack, the weapons, all are insignificant. Only she remains.

Dormin shifts uneasily, staring down at the tiny, motionless girl. Why does this protective feeling swell in him so? Why are there thoughts of wanting this girl alive? Dormin does not know her and has no connection with her.

But that young warrior did. These thoughts are his? But how? Dormin has already consumed this boy's body and mind. He cannot control himself any longer on his own. Could it be that this traveler's soul is stronger than his physical form? That somehow he is fending off Dormin in a battle that does not require the brawn of a sword, but pure, unwavering will stemming from the heart?

Lord Emon, having ascended the summit of the spiral stairs, stands high above the circular pond. He studies the sword that has caused so much destruction, then releases it to the dim water. He barks a short and abrupt chant. The cry of the blade tings as it whips end over end. Even in the diffused light, the dull silver glimmers. The sword splashes into the dark water and disappears entirely, as if the puddle was as deep as the ocean.

Searing white radiance bursts straight up from the small enclosure. Even standing as far away as the altar, Dormin is hit by a shocking wave of stifling wind and brightness. They feel their feet sliding nearer to the sea of despair. They cannot think of anything else except the glow and how it is tearing out the shadowy threads from their body. They are disappearing into the shining beam. The whiteness is too strong and it is sucking the life out of Dormin. They are growing weaker are dying

and the body belongs to Wander once more. He is terrified. He sees the swallowing luminance and understands he is paying for his actions. He cannot make it to Mono. He has not been afraid of light before. Open plains of grass drenched with sunny brilliance has never bothered him. But fear grapples him now. Gravity tugs cruelly at him, forcing him away from the altar, from Mono! Desperately, Wander resists against the strong pull but the attempt is useless. His feet, torturously slow, are running in Mono's direction; but the magnetic tow of the scorching beam tugs at him harder. He tumbles back, farther and farther away from her. He falls in the endless light.

White nothingness blinds Wander's vision. With his last coherent thought, his everlasting wish to see Mono alive transforms into the wish that she will live on, and that he too would in her heart.

- END -


End file.
